


Tripartite

by MontanaHarper



Category: White Collar
Genre: Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Grading Hell Theater, Multi, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/MontanaHarper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Peter's normally pretty good about remembering to pick things up on his way home.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tripartite

**Author's Note:**

> [**cereta**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cereta) said: "So, do your favorite characters pass [the broccoli test](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Broccoli_Test)?"

Peter's normally pretty good about remembering to pick things up on his way home, but today was an ugly case and Neal almost got shot and there was paperwork for at least an hour after everyone else had gone home, so it's not until he's on the doorstep that he realizes El asked for broccoli before he left this morning.

He leans his head against the front door and takes a breath, bracing himself to turn around and head down to the little grocery on the corner. Before he can make himself move, though, the door opens and he's staring down at Neal's Italian loafers.

"Is that Peter?" El calls from the kitchen, and Neal hums an affirmative over his shoulder.

Neal's smiling at him, but all Peter can see is the stark white of the fresh bandage at Neal's temple. "Come on," he says, reaching to take Peter's hand. "Dinner's almost ready. We can talk later about why you were just standing outside the door like a man on his way to his own execution."

Peter shakes his head and lets their fingers tangle together. "I forgot the broccoli," he says. _And I am a terrible husband,_ he doesn't add, but it's true. He lets Neal tug him closer, though, because he's exhausted and it really was the worst day and if Nelson had slightly better aim....

The door closes behind them and then Neal's arms are around him, the clean citrus smell of his shampoo sharp in Peter's nose, and Peter closes his eyes and holds on. He's out of it enough that he doesn't hear El until she's slipping her arms around them both.

"I'm sorry," he says, and he means for the broccoli and for the bullet graze and maybe for falling apart in the foyer, too. He tightens his hold, and the three of them stand there together until he feels like he can move again. He swallows against the lump in his throat and it only comes out a little rough when he says, "I'll just go get the broccoli."

Neal and El don't let go, though, and Neal shakes his head just a little, a movement Peter feels more than sees. "We're good," he says, the words little more than a breath of air against Peter's cheek.

"It's okay, hon," El agrees. She pauses and then, because she knows him better than anyone, better than he knows himself some days, she continues, " _Neal_ is okay."

The words make him squeeze his arms tighter reflexively and Neal huffs out a quiet laugh. "Though my ribs might not make it through the night at this rate." Neal presses a kiss to Peter's temple. "Come on," he says, voice still low but not quite as careful as before, like he's stopped being afraid Peter is going to shatter. "Dinner's waiting."

"And we'll just have to have extra dessert to make up for the lack of broccoli," El says, mirroring Neal's gesture, her lips soft against Peter's other temple.

Peter takes a deep breath and opens his eyes to see the two most beautiful, most _important_ people in his life smiling at him, and he smiles back.


End file.
